


Crescendo

by allofuswithwings



Category: Muse (Band)
Genre: Adrenaline, Black Holes and Revelations Era, M/M, POV First Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Frustration, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:21:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27623327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allofuswithwings/pseuds/allofuswithwings
Summary: I could feel it on him; the buzz, the energy, the high from the exertion and performance in front of all those people, and how it needed dispelling in some way. With something extreme, something stupid, something so fucked-up and mad that he wouldn’t normally consider. Something like getting off with me.
Relationships: Matt Bellamy/Chris Wolstenholme
Kudos: 7





	Crescendo

**Author's Note:**

> Imported from Livejournal/Dreamwidth. Originally posted September 2009.
> 
> Based on the Assassin (Live from LA) clip that was downloadable as part of The Resistance pre-ordering. There’s just something utterly sexual about this performance, from all of them, and so it prompted this fic. Particularly around the 4-5 minute mark, there’s some lush shots of Chris. Also think the aggression on Bellamy as seen in the making of video of Uprising.

I was dripping with sweat by the time we walked off the stage and down the back corridors of the venue. Dom was already whooping and bounding ahead of me, slapping Chris on the back as he bumped past him and toward the dressing room. I didn’t blame him for his venting of energy; we were all buzzing after that gig.

Something about the crowd, the heavy red lighting and the heat of the place had set my head spinning and caught us all in some weirdly intense vibe. I’d felt it from those first few licks of my guitar, and seen it in the slightly maddened glint of Dom’s and Chris’s eyes as we launched into _Assassin_.

My steps seemed hurried despite how knackered I was, my body humming off the adrenaline high, and after a moment I fell in line beside Chris as he wandered along, loosening his tie. He was drenched with sweat as well, likely much more than me. He’d been wearing a long-sleeved shirt with tie and trousers when I’d only been in jeans and a t-shirt; he must’ve been sweltering.

I nudged him and passed him my bottle of water, which he gratefully accepted, guzzling the rest of it while spilling half of it down his neck and front. I felt my eyes track the path across his flushed skin, down his throat to where he’d unbuttoned his shirt and a smudge of dark chest hair peeked out.

Pressing my eyelids shut for a moment, I tipped my head to one side, stretching out my neck. The muscles still didn’t loosen, the tendons and sinew much too taut to calm down and let me relax any time soon. I was too wired from playing, much more than usual, my head and body amped up into high gear, raring to go.

When I opened my lids again, Chris’s eyes were on me, and he pressed the drink bottle back into my hand. His lips stretched into a smirk and my eyes followed as his fingers played at his loosened tie again. I swore and threw the empty bottle at him. It bounced easily off his arm and he laughed, a wicked, slightly hysterical snickering. With a large, damp hand he shoved me in the side of the head and I staggered, giggling.

I swiped at my messy, wet locks, fingers fidgeting madly over my scalp in an attempt to fix my hair. It seemed to just make it worse because Chris laughed at me again, and I grinned wolfishly in return. Though shorter, his hair was nearly as bad; mussed up by a mix of perspiration and gel, it gave him a wild, dishevelled appearance.

I reached over to rub his locks with my palm, sniggering as it made them even more skewed than they already were. Crying out with a wide grin on his face, he swatted my hand away and grabbed me by my bicep, his eyes flashing. With a forceful shove, he launched me forward, making me stumble and almost fall straight on my arse.

Chris burst out laughing, his cackles echoing down the hall as I righted myself and shot him a mock-glare. I hadn’t fucked about with him like this for a while, and it felt good to let loose and just ride the wave of hyperactivity. Turning back to him, I lunged toward his throat, grabbing hold of his tie and the collar of his shirt to fling him at the wall as hard as I could.

He staggered but didn’t lose his balance or hit the wall with any force; his height and weight advantage preventing me from making any satisfying impact on him physically. He would always win this game. But I didn’t care. The expenditure of energy and sensations of rough physicality were all I needed right then.

Chris laughed again and grabbed me by the scruff of my shirt, his hand bunching in the sweat-dampened fabric between my shoulders. He yanked me toward him, my arms flailing helplessly. Sometimes it was embarrassing just how easily he could throw me around when he wanted to.

Then he pressed his nose into the back of my hair and growled at me. A heavy, animal-like noise from the back of his throat as he spoke to me, grinning.

“Don’t even try it. I’ll fuck you up.”

I felt myself shudder, heartbeat and breaths spiralling out of control again, before Chris shoved me aside and ploughed into the dressing room.

Dom was already there, stripping off jeans and shirt, quickly drying his face and chest down with a towel before changing into clean clothes. He let out a _bastard_ and _fuck_ as his new jeans resisted, stuck to his damp skin, and only managing to wrestle them on over the chair in one corner. I could feel his frustration and antsy mood from where I stood at the doorway; it was draped around all of us, creating an almost stifling atmosphere in the tiny change room.

Dom yanked the tee I was planning to wear from its hanger, and pulled it over his head before I had a chance to stop him. I cursed him and complained about now having to find something else to wear, but he just laughed at me while fiddling with his hair in the mirror. I rifled through our small wardrobe, frowning, while Dom reached past me to steal his gay leopard-print belt and favourite Chucks. I didn’t like any of the other shirts in there, they were too fucking lurid, and precisely Dom’s taste. Why he had to go and take the one I wanted, and he knew I’d want over all the rest, I had no idea. Just to be a little shit, probably.

Another dose of cologne and sweep of product through his hair, and Dom was ready to go. Usually it took him hours to prepare, he was always the last of us to get his arse into gear, but that night he was lightning-fast and anxious to leave. I knew it was the effects of the gig, so I didn’t taunt him for once, just let him barrel back past me to the doorway.

“Come on, come on, let’s fucking go,” he rambled, drumming on the doorframe with his hands.

I could see the wild look in his eye as he waited impatiently for me and Chris, and could only imagine all the shenanigans he would be getting up to, being in that mood. He was mischievous and disorderly after shows at the best of times, let alone being fuelled by the intoxicating nature of everything that evening. And I was so fidgety, indecisive about what to do, what to wear, that there was no use in him waiting for me to be ready. It would only annoy the shit out of him, and I didn’t feel like bearing the brunt of Dom’s frustration, standing between him and the likely multiple shags he was aiming for that night.

“Just fucking go, I’ll meet you there,” I muttered, throwing aside another garish pink t-shirt into the discard pile.

“Chris?” Dom prodded, after nodding to me.

I looked over to see Chris busy fiddling about with his mobile phone and scratching restlessly at one side of his neck. He shook his head, not looking up, and paced the small space of the dressing room.

“Haven’t decided. You can fuck off. I’ll text you later.”

Dom smirked at Chris’s abrupt retort, then waved me a quick goodbye before bolting out the room, the slap of his hurried footsteps echoing down the corridor.

I turned back to the clothes rack with a sigh, then glared and gave it a hard shove into the wall. It smacked and clattered against the concrete, creating a cacophony in the tiny room, and I heard Chris snicker from behind me. I spun around to flip him a two-fingered salute, before kicking the door shut hard and wincing as it stubbed my toe. I joined Chris in his laughter, my mood easily swinging from the extreme of anger to complete hilarity in a few seconds thanks to the heightened atmosphere of intensity I felt.

I bounded over to where Chris was now sitting and reached for his neck, thieving his tie in one swift motion. He swiped at me but missed, still messing about with his phone, and I wrapped the tie around my hand tightly before repeating the action in the opposite direction. After the third or fourth binding and unbinding, Chris looked up at me, raising an eyebrow and smirking.

“The fuck you doing?”

I shrugged, throwing the tie aside and eying the explosion of clothes I’d created against the wall and over the chair. I knew I’d have to pick something eventually, but my brain crackled and popped too much right then to think clearly and make any sort of decision.

“Motherfucker,” I heard Chris growl as he bashed at and then pocketed his phone.

“What?”

“Kelly’s gone out with mates tonight, won’t be back ‘til later,” he informed me.

“So?”

“So, I wanted to meet her back at the hotel now,” he complained. “I’m itching for a fuck.”

I giggled.

“Go back and have a wank then,” I taunted. “Or just wait until she gets back.”

He grunted, shaking his head and banging his fist against the wall.

“Not the same, is it?” he replied. “And I’m too fucking twitchy to wait, you know what it’s like.”

I nodded, feeling my head rush. I knew damn well because I felt it now, and had felt it hundreds of times before.

“Yeah, gigging gets the blood pumping, adrenaline going,” I agreed. “And all the jumping around, physical effort hits up the testosterone and all that shit, so all you wanna do is fight or fuck or something like that, yeah?”

I shoved his shoulder back against the wall to make my point, a wicked grin on my lips and my eyes darkening. His eyes flared and he pushed me back, smirking. I took a fistful of his shirt in my hand, pulling at it and tipping my head in threat. I saw his eyes dart down as I took my bottom lip between my teeth, and he gripped my arm roughly in retaliation, fingers digging into my bicep.

“Exactly,” he grunted, licking at the side of his mouth.

Chris’s grin was predatory and I could see him breathing heavily, trying to contain the restless buzzing of energy that rushed through his bloodstream. My eyes dragged themselves along the line of sweat that slid its way down the side of his face to his neck, pausing as it ran over the prominent throb of his artery.

All of his skin glowed with perspiration, despite the fact that he’d dried down with a towel not a few minutes earlier. Everything seemed stuck in this perpetual atmosphere of heat, adrenaline, tension and fervour, and I found my own head and body swimming with the stimulation. I lifted a hand up to grab the spiked tuft of Chris’s fringe, grasping his hair between my fingers to fix him in place.

His other hand flew up to fasten around my wrist, his large fingers easily dwarfing and engulfing my thinner bones, and I drew a sharp breath at the sheer aggression of our encounter. I watched his pupils dilate as our faces drew inadvertently nearer, and I found myself tipping my jaw up as though in challenge. I couldn’t help the way my own eyes roamed over the shape of his mouth, the glisten of saliva on his lips, and licked my own slowly, thickly in an unconscious response.

It was so wrong. This. I knew it. But I couldn’t help it. I could smell the sweat and testosterone on him, and it was fucking with my head. In combination with my own hormones and adrenaline, it made me horny as all hell, and I was suddenly raring to get off. I wanted sex, I _needed_ sex, or some derivative of it, and I knew he did too.

“So which is it gonna be?” I growled. “Fight or fuck?”

Chris snorted a laugh, his grin wry.

“Don’t have much of a choice with Kelly out, do I?” he stated.

I allowed my eyelids to droop and lips to part slightly, my tongue soft in my mouth. It was a dirty tactic, and I knew it.

“There’s always options. Other offers.”

I watched his eyes widen slightly at my implication, and then an eyebrow quirked in curiosity. I allowed my own gaze to bore into his, softening my expression in an attempt to shoot him the most seductive and smouldering look I could muster. There could be no mistaking what I wanted from him, wanted from this situation we found ourselves in.

I could feel it on him; the buzz, the energy, the high from the exertion and performance in front of all those people, and how it needed dispelling in some way. With something extreme, something stupid, something so fucked-up and mad that he wouldn’t normally consider. Something like getting off with me.

And he certainly knew what I was driving at, because his gaze shot down to my mouth and he leaned in abruptly to kiss me, only to hesitate and pull back with a sharp exhalation. But that was all the confirmation I needed, and I crushed my lips against his, kissing him hard with one hand in his hair and the other bunched in his shirt.

Chris grunted, either with surprise or desire, possibly both, and his grip on my arms tightened as we grappled with one another. It was all tongues and heat and saliva; pure aggression and a need for sex and stimulation radiated off both of us in waves. Our hands clawed at clothes, muscles and any bare skin we could touch, with my own fingers pulling roughly at the collar of Chris’s shirt in an attempt to get it undone.

His mouth was so foreign to kiss, tasting slightly of cigarettes and beer, but the fervour and intensity of his tongue against mine more than made up for any misgivings I had. He grunted and breathed heavily into my mouth, sending me further out of control with sounds of such guttural need. I felt it too, the momentum of animal desire, breaking through any barriers of our own sexuality or peripheral attachment to just focus on this pursuit of pleasure.

This. Here. Now. Me. _Him_. It was all I could think about, all I could feel, all I wanted.

My fingers groped at his chest, nails scraping at the skin, making him groan and bite down on my lip as he kissed me. I feigned a cry of protest, pulling at his hair and shoving my hips against his. Chris’s hand on my bicep moved swiftly to grab at my arse, pressing our pelvis’s together in response, and I could feel the heat and hardness in his jeans, a mirror of my own. I bucked and ground against him, the friction of denim on denim utterly heavenly on the ache of my cock, and I was unable to stifle the moan that ripped itself from my throat at the sensation.

I went to kiss him again, rushed and desperate to feel his tongue again, but missed, hitting the side of his mouth and jaw. My lips grazed over the stubble on his chin but I continued on, uncaring, snaking out my tongue over the roughness of his skin just to taste him. I forced his head back, sealing my lips over his throat, and allowed the saltiness of his sweat to invade my nostrils and mouth. His grip on my arse tightened, pulling me harder against him, his erection an undeniable presence as it dug into my pelvis, as mine was in his.

“ _Fuck_.”

It was gasped again into my hair as my teeth came down on the skin over Chris’s adam’s apple, and he released my wrist to fasten his hand around the back of my neck, pressing my face harder against his throat. My tongue came out to lick a trail up the hollows I found there, leaving a wet path, before yanking his head back down to force us into another kiss. He responded by shoving me backwards so we hit the wall, knocking the air out of me for a moment and causing a painful tug on Chris’s hair that was still clutched between my fingers.

In the momentary separation of our hips, Chris’s hand flew around to the front of my jeans, where he began to fiddle and yank at the fly. Set afire with the thought of Chris’s intent to take hold of me, my hand at his chest pulled, tore at the fabric of his shirt, breaking buttons and ripping it open in blind need. He panted heavily, swearing, as we mauled one another, worked up beyond any semblance of sanity and desperate for some kind of heated release.

My fingernails bit into the skin of his exposed chest, scratching through and pulling on the trail of hair I found there, and following it down to the waistband of his trousers. His hand bunched in my still-damp hair to pull my neck to one side, and he began his own oral assault on the taut tendons of my throat. He sunk his teeth in and sucked indiscriminately on the rigid muscles under my skin, the agonising mix of pain and bliss making me moan and drawing another _fuck_ from my lips.

I pressed my palm roughly against the bulge in his jeans and the groan this generated vibrated against my throat, making me shudder. He shoved his pelvis toward my hand to force me to touch him further, and I allowed my fingers to grasp the shape of his cock this time.

“ _Matt_.”

My name was growled out from his lips, a primal, hungry sound that flooded my ears and filled up my brain to further stimulate those same visceral needs in me. It didn’t matter that this was a bloke; hell, I’d been there years before and had no regrets about it. But it mattered even less that this was Chris, my best friend and band mate. Huge potential to royally fuck up our friendships and musical careers, but it was also part of the reason I was doing it in the first place. I needed to go there with him. I needed to see him that way to know what it felt like. What _he_ felt like.

But he was quicker than me, busy fingers had unbuttoned my fly and pulled down the zip, and before my head was prepared for what Chris touching me might actually be like, he had my cock in his fist, drawing heavy, rapid strokes. I choked out a moan, bucking my hips and grasping at him almost angrily, the sensation pleasurably jarring and overwhelming. A string of expletives tumbled from my lips, and I threw my head back, thudding it against the wall in a frenzy of pleasure.

My own hands scrambled at his jeans, tearing them open and diving in with desperate, sweaty fingers. They closed around the heated length I found there, my grip making his body jolt and his lips come crashing back on mine with a low moan. He was thick and heavy in my palm, the situation smacking of both familiarity and strangeness for me; a blend of distant memories of experimentation coupled with knowledge of how my own cock felt in my hand.

But further thoughts became obliterated as his hand worked on me, pulling me partially free from my jeans so the head of my cock pressed against my abdomen with each stroke. I mirrored his motion before finally releasing his hair and sliding my other hand down to his hip to yank him harder against me.

“Fuck, yes, fucking – god – _fuck_ , like that, oh.”

My words came out as half-thoughts, furious and yearning, grunted and growled from the back of my throat. Chris pulled these primal desires from the darkest recesses of my mind and body, facilitated by the intense, exotic atmosphere of the evening, and I let them take over all conduct. I thumbed the head of his cock, which was already wet with pre-come; a fact that sent my blood pumping harder in my veins and made my head swim with lust. Chris moaned into my mouth at the slippery sensation, shuddering against me as he became overwhelmed by my touch.

It seemed completely from instinct that I knew how to touch his cock, exactly where and how hard, to send tremors through him and drive him even more crazy than he already was. He gasped and grunted at me, kissing me hard and breathing heavily into my ear as he came up for air. And whether he knew it or not, he was doing the same to me. I didn’t need to tell him to move his hand a particular way, or makes his strokes faster or slower, softer or harder. He just _knew_. It was something intuitive that we were feeling, a kind of dark unconsciousness of desire, that tuned us into the same wavelength where no explanation was needed.

Not to say that our exchange was perfect; far from it. Our bodies jerked, writhed against one another, hands gripping and pulling harshly, awkwardly, blissfully, drawing out groans and curses of pleasure. We were unevenly matched in height, weight and strength, and not at all used to touching other men, so for the most part our groping was probably an entirely graceless affair. But then again, most sex is.

I squeezed and pulled at Chris’s cock, my arm jammed between our bodies, and his own fingers still wrapped around my erection, pressing against my belly. His hand at my neck had travelled to my ribcage, where he pushed and shoved my t-shirt up, exposing my stomach and allowing our bare skin to rub over one another. It was an insane sensation; the heat and sweat from our skin making us a slippery mess of fingers, cocks and fabric, with both of us completely uncaring that we were two straight men getting off with each other in a dingy, cramped dressing room.

To be brutally honest, in the middle of that blind, rampant desire, I had the overwhelming urge and yearning to fuck Chris. Or be fucked by him. If I’d thought I’d last the distance, if we’d had more time, if Chris had been willing; I would’ve done it. Considering how far we’d already stepped over the line, going that little bit further wasn’t a huge leap for me. And in itself, the thought turned me on even more at the time, my head filling with images of Chris bent over the chair or pressed against the wall with my cock buried inside him. But there wasn’t the chance then or restraint present in either of us, so I settled for what I could get.

Quickly, so quickly, I felt that familiar knot of tension winding up in the bottom of my belly, and I pressed my forehead against Chris’s shoulder, my eyes rolling into the back of my head. I moaned low in my throat, furrowing my brow at how good the heat and aggression of all this felt, letting it overtake my senses and gather with increasing pressure inside me. My hips bucked hard against Chris’s hand with each rapid and now erratic stroke, and I could feel his hot, laboured breaths in my hair.

Fragments of swear words fell from his lips, whispered, grunted, groaned, as he became unravelled, body shuddering against my own. He was close too. The swift rise and fall of his chest, the grind of his pelvis toward my hand, and the hard press of his fingers around my ribcage told me as much. My hand on his arse slid up to his shoulder for a tighter grip, and to gain more leverage as I felt myself spiralling out of control.

“Fuck – fuck – Chris, I’m gonna come. Gonna come,” I muttered, taking gasping breaths.

Then there was a sharp exhalation of air from between his lips, a choked, clipped moan from his throat and his hips bucked and held against my hand. Chris was coming. My eyes flicked up to his face, feeling blood rush under my fingers as I tightened my grip, pressing hard to draw out his orgasm. The look on his face was filthy; furrowed brow, eyes squeezed shut and mouth dropped open with wet, flushed lips. It was enough to tip me over, and I snapped, letting out a moan from between clenched teeth as I started to climax. The sensation hit me hard, exploding in my pelvis and making me writhe as I spilled onto my own belly and Chris’s hand, body shuddering. God, it was good, so fucking good; intense, jarring, aching. Exactly what I needed that night.

After a few moments, the energy drained out from both of us and we fell limp, shaking and twitching in a post-orgasmic daze. We were a sticky tangle of clothes, hands, sweat, cock and come, and my brain took its fucking time before it decided to process what had just happened and what to do next. Chris’s breaths were slowing but still heavy in my hair, his lips brushing against the wet, wispy locks at my forehead, and I could see his pulse throbbing in the artery of his throat.

I inhaled shakily and felt my nostrils fill with the scent of exertion and come, making my head swim. The skin of Chris’s neck glowed with perspiration and I leaned in, unthinking, to run a slow tongue up the hollow of his throat, tasting him. Chris shuddered and jerked, a small noise of surprise and sensitivity escaping his throat, followed by an involuntary chuckle. Then I felt him grin against my forehead and he started to laugh. I joined him.

The quelling of the hyperactive atmosphere and release of tension made us both giddy, combined with the stupidity and slight disbelief of what we’d just done. We attempted to extricate ourselves from one another, the sticky tangle of our slick skin and come, and weakness of limbs making it difficult and amusing. Chris groaned slightly as I peeled my fingers from his cock, and I felt my breath leave me as he did the same to me, my body incredibly sensitive as it always was after sex.

I managed to locate some tissues and we slowly, still bewildered, cleaned ourselves up as best we could. There was no way either of us were in a decent enough state to go to the after-party now, the smell of sex on us both notable and suspicious, but we were acceptable enough to make it back to our hotel.

I looked up at Chris, still giggling, as I zipped up my fly, and he flashed me a sloppy, stupid grin. His eyes were glazed with satisfaction, my ego growing at the knowledge that I’d done a good job of getting him off, but they also danced with amusement. I watched as he slowly buttoned up his creased shirt with slightly shaking fingers.

“Fuckin’ _hell_.”

I laughed at Chris’s concise summation of the situation. He chuckled again, shaking his head. I smoothed down my t-shirt with sluggish fingers, the usual fidgeting nature of my hands dulled by exhaustion and fulfilment.

“Well, you got a bit of both fighting _and_ fucking then, yeah?” I sniggered.

Chris grinned widely.

“Yeah.”

I smirked, feeling quite pleased with myself. Chris never was a man of many words, but I knew him well enough to be able to determine his mood just by his gestures and expressions. Clearly, I’d given him what he needed. As he’d done for me too, of course.

The post-coital warmth made my body still feel heated, though entirely spent, and I rubbed at my face with one hand. Christ. My fingers still smelled of Chris’s cock. The scent overwhelmed my shattered mind, niggling it with crackles of newfound arousal, and I had to drop my hand down quickly to push all thoughts of that aside. I tilted my head to roll my neck, and felt the muscles ache with exhaustion. At least they weren’t tense with restless energy any more, just tired from use, which I much preferred.

“Took us a while, yeah?”

I looked up quizzically as Chris spoke, not entirely sure what he was referring to. There was a glint of wry amusement in his eyes, lids drooped with what could have been either fatigue or something else entirely.

“What? What did?” I asked, leaning back against the wall for support.

He gestured clumsily with one hand.

“ _That_. Getting to that,” he explained. “Had about fifteen years of opportunities, but only _now_...”

Chris trailed off, perching himself on the back of the armchair.

“Only now we took our frustrations out on each other?” I offered.

Chris nodded, chuckling again, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. I shrugged, still smiling.

“Right place, right time, I think,” I said. “Or wrong one, depending how you look at it...”

I gave a slightly embarrassed snort, and Chris shoved me in the arm.

“Oh, don’t fucking tell me you regret this now, do you?” he asked. “You fucking started it.”

I shook my head, giggling again.

“No, of course not. Wasn’t sure if you would, that’s all,” I replied. “Though you didn’t seem to be complaining at the time.”

Chris snickered and stood back up off the chair, his eyes flashing.

“Fuck no,” he growled. “I needed relief and you gave it to me. No regrets about that.”

“Gave it to you good,” I murmured, throwing him a feral grin.

Chris quirked an eyebrow, laughing and shaking his head.

“Jesus, you never stop, do you?” he chuckled. “Filthy bugger.”

I bit my tongue to stop any more indecent replies, despite how easy the innuendoes were. I gave my clothes one more smooth down before pushing myself back off the wall to stand up straight. I noticed Chris’s eyes track over me while I did this, and I had the feeling he wouldn’t ever look at me the same way again. Not that I would see him in the same light again either.

“Alright, let’s stop flirting and get the fuck out of here. I need to go back to the hotel and shower before the party,” I said, before breaking into a mischievous giggle.

Chris cuffed me around the back of the head before pulling open the dressing room door and shoving me through it. As I turned my head back to look at him, he stepped out and shut the door behind us, throwing me a wicked grin. I couldn’t help the toothy, mischievous smile that stretched across my own face before heading down the corridor with fuzzy head and tired, fulfilled body.


End file.
